


i fall into your breathing, inhale all you speak

by stellarisms



Series: it goes like this (the minor fall, the major lift)。 [8]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dildos, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Praise Kink, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 15:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7720612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarisms/pseuds/stellarisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Alternatively Titled: "Levi Has A Praise Kink A Mile Long" - among other things.</p><p>Fits into the IGLT universe somewhere between “liminality” and the main story, though neither is required reading by any means!</p>
    </blockquote>





	i fall into your breathing, inhale all you speak

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively Titled: "Levi Has A Praise Kink A Mile Long" - among other things.
> 
> Fits into the IGLT universe somewhere between “liminality” and the main story, though neither is required reading by any means!

 

Levi is strange.

He’s strange and he knows it.

He’s never had the kind of raging libido over things that the other trainees his age would go on and (get) off about when discussions arose - and fell just as soon and as quickly to Shadis’s booming shouts from across the grounds for them to get their sorry asses back to training.

He’s never had the inclination let alone the inhumanity to appraise the forms of trainee girls who ended up in their group - and Petra wasn’t an exception as much as she was, Levi knew all too well from sparring with her, a soldier who happened to know how to use a damn good pair of legs.

But he never would claim to be above finding a quiet corner room reserved for when the boys cooped in their set-aside barracks needed ‘alone time,’ either.

'Alone time’ to do what he came here to do.

 

* * *

 

 

In retrospect, deciding to skip training was a terrible idea.  
  
He knew Shadis - big foreheaded hardass - wouldn’t report back to Erwin about it.

But Shadis _would_ mention it in passing.

And, dammit, Levi didn’t need that, no sooner than he needed to give Erwin’s still-healing injuries from that recent Titan run-in further exacerbation.  
  
Not that he ever, ever wanted to cause Erwin undue stress.  
  
Not out of spite.  
  
The tall bastard brought him here.  He kept Levi going, gave him a place when he had nowhere else.    
  
If Levi couldn’t be grateful for at least that much, then he might as well return to the Underground and the Family from whence he came.  
  
(Not that he would ever, ever want to– no way in hell. 

Not in a million years. )  
  


* * *

 

  
Besides, he had so much to be grateful for.   
  
Like this discreet little bottle he brought with him.  
  
Like the odd little device that Hange insisted he take with him too after an impromptu visit to Four Eyes’ lab on messenger duty.  
  
Hange, as always, did little to explain what the stuff was for, let alone why the instructions given to him in the form of a book.  
  
“But, shh, don’t let anyone else read it."  The bespectacled squad leader’s eyes sparkled as her voice lowered to a sultry lilt to the admittance.  "It’s a Banned One, you know.”  
  
If not for his boredom between combat lessons and his inclinations toward truancy, Levi wouldn’t have bothered to open the book at all.  
  
Except he did – which, as it turns out, was his second mistake.  
  


* * *

  
  
The first was, no doubt, his predilection for noticing.  Things.    
  
On the surface, they were otherwise not at all noteworthy details.  Fine-tuned unconscious motions.  Vague dedications made to memory on a whim and because Levi was interested in why.  
  
Levi was definitely interested in why there’s been a certain surge in appreciative glances over the mess hall dinner table from Erwin on his weekly visits to the camp – a trend that coincided rather nicely following that first time Erwin cut his hair and had yet to give pause ever since.  
  
So he’s noticed, naturally, a few strange. Things.   
  
About Erwin.   
  
For starters, the commander’s voice and presence even in casual settings.  
  
He was so sure, observed him so much over the last two years and counting, that Erwin didn’t smile anywhere near as often as when offering praise to Levi. 

He’s been doing it a lot more, in fact, since confiding in him for solace on the night of his recovery.  
  
He thinks of that voice now - clear, strong, stalwart - while he locks the door.  
  
The empty single bed quarters set aside in the barracks is quiet when he drops unceremonious onto the bed.  
  
Quieter still while he palms himself through his pants and presses the swell of it against him, while his eyes slide shut and he remembers, _shit_ , that stupid bottle’s still in my back pocket.  
  
Distractions aside, Levi wonders if it was Hange’s madcap moments of almost genius that inspired such a handy little gifts or sheer luck.  
  


* * *

  
  
Either way, he’s grateful.   
  
He’s grateful, too, when he reaches with his other hand for it while he undoes several buttons and a couple more belts than usual (the damn things’ll take too long to unfasten all the way) and slides out of his pants.  
  
It’s all about efficiency, clockwork motions, when Levi pours a bit of the lubricant into his open palm.   
  
A quick go, Levi resolves, that won’t last long.  
  
As long as his imagination doesn’t stall any further, that is.  
  


* * *

  
  
It’s warm – though he shivers, startled by the suddenness of his own touch after being so worked up, almost relieved as soon as he gets a fist around himself – and lets the rest of his thoughts go.  
  
(Warm, Levi remembers, like the pads of Erwin’s fingertips smooth against the back of his just-shaven nape.)  
  
It’s warm, Levi swallows down a sigh that’s stilted like the hand that works over himself slow and steady, like the tentative graze of fingertips tracing down his side in mimicry of another’s caress.  
  
(Like the faint fondness to Erwin’s comments on his high marks, roundabout and resonant, but so confident, so proud, as if his successes are as worthy of praise as Levi himself.)  
  
It’s _warm_ , Levi thinks while he grabs for the vial for enough – no, more than enough for now, his slicked fingers reaching behind him decide – to sate the impossible growing curiosity within him.  
  
The very curiosity, in fact, that bade him to try this first in the showers before, aroused by a late night’s bout of wandering the grounds down to picked locks and a bit too much heady late-night thoughts.  
  
Strange thoughts about how well the power of steam, slick, and the benefits of an active imagination could serve in building a midnight fantasy or two.

 

* * *

  
  
But here, though sheets promised clean and laundered certainly smelt like it, Levi finds he’s far more grateful for that extra practice and trials it took to bring back data on experimental operation How The Flying Fuck Would A Finger Or Two In Your Ass Even Feel.  
  
As it turns out, if you do it right and don’t rush it?    
  
It’s a great tool to relieve stress.  
  
An even better muscle relaxant.  
  
And it’s really ridiculously **warm** , preparation or foreplay beforehand be damned.  
  


* * *

  
Levi sucks in a breath through gritted teeth now, though.

He hasn’t done this in over a week as it is.  
  
Holy hell, if he doesn’t feel the effects of it.  
  
He’s so keyed up on sensation it takes clutching the sheets and a good minute to calm himself down.  
  
At least there’s a kind of magic to it that hits sometime into the eleventh, twelfth, thirteenth time around.   
  
Probably.  
  
(Eleven, twelve, thirteen.)  
  
He counts down the seconds to dripping a bit more of the stuff into the spaces between his crooked fingers.  Spreads his legs a bit wider.  Lets a dollop of the stuff drip down, down, down and once it’s in, once he’s gotten one worked in and his other hand has gotten back into the monumental if not near impossible task of returning some semblance of friction to his softening erection–  
  
(Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen.)  
  
He lets his other finger massage at his rim, thinks of office doors left ajar, thinks of the amount of skin on bare display when a desk-bound commander decided 'a few pushups or pullups’ won’t hurt.

How Levi stood there, dared to stay and run his mouth dry.

Thinks of how Erwin peeled off jacket & shirt, tossed them aside to lie back and lift his back and arch his hips up from that hardwood floor and all that _muscle_ , holy shit–  
  
(Sixteen, eighteen–

Shit, can’t concentrate. 

Or count, apparently.)  
  
He starts to ease in the second finger beside the first as he imagines how Erwin would look, perched between his legs and knelt down with those pretty blue eyes half-mast and heated, thinks of damp unkempt hair falling over his face flushed and smeared with whatever he couldn’t lap up with his tongue and–   
  
Like that, _fuck_ , he’s almost two fingers deep and his left leg won’t stop trembling at the realization:   
  
He’s hard.  
  
More than ready to get a move on and multitask again.  
  
Which is _good._

Levi’s languid pace loses its rhythm to the pleased little huff he lets out through his nose, and he wasn’t the least bit worried for his libido. 

He’s seventeen, for Sina’s fucking sake.  
  
But he didn’t like the thought of disappointment after he skipped training for this.

 

* * *

 

 

It doesn’t take much to fall back into a fantasy, though.  
  
Not for Levi.   
  
All he has to do is focus a little, tuck his fingers a little bit closer together, shift his posture so his back presses into the mattress cradling him and adjusts both his hands so they’ll have plenty of room to work out this new angle and the counterbalance of what his lower half wants and needs and–   
  
Yes, there, much better than when he started out.  
  
So much better.  
  
He has training to thank for this, added strength to his calves and thigh muscles and an increased “finesse in coordinated movement.”  
  
That’s what Erwin called it when he demonstrated how effortless the 3DMG training felt to him, spoke of and for Levi’s unconventional manner of combat and reflexive techniques in mid-air as something “worthy of praise.”

  
Fuck, if Levi didn’t love the way Erwin said that.

 

* * *

  
  
“Fuck,” Levi hums soft and strained as he works in yet another finger into himself, and if he doesn’t love the way Erwin could argue for anything and speak on his behalf to the consulate when they question his protégé and accuse him of being the Commander’s Pet.  
  
(Levi hates the idea of ownership, hates the military’s fixation on rank and respect and title-divvying.

But if it’s Erwin, if it’s **Erwin** , Levi trusts him.

Enough to not mind being called his.)  
  
Fuck him, Levi whispers to no one in particular, other than the spectral strokes of those big heavy hands and those fingers about to run across his skin and venerate him, worship him, ruin him from the inside out and fill him far thicker and deeper than Levi’s own ever could.  
  
(Levi can’t imagine the plug Hange gave him even coming _close_ to the size of Erwin’s cock.

How the flesh and blood and sweat would be more than enough.

Enough to remind them of their mortality.)  
  
Fuck _him_ , mumbles Levi into the muffling down of pillows resting against the bedframe, if he hasn’t imagined that low sonorous voice, that Upper Sina accent and vernacular, in fantasies where finances and battle formations aren’t the only things he’ll take his time pulling apart.  
  
(Levi doesn’t mind denial, never failed any test that involved stamina.

Least of all when he had the kind of motivation that could keep him going and going like this.

For hours, if the need arose.)  
  
Because fuck, **fuck** , if Levi doesn’t want his commander and everything about him, wonders if his mouth and his tongue will be as talented in the bedroom as they are speaking to a conference room full of officers, wonders if the sweet curl of his devotion would constrict in Levi’s stomach just as much as the bruises from an unexpectedly rough grip would.  
  
(He wonders if there’s truth in the old sayings about forearm and foot size in proportion to dick size because Levi’s measured with his eyes when they showered in neighboring stalls once and, if it’s true, then it makes sense that Erwin’s as hung as a–)

 

* * *

  
  
Erwin’s soft low cadence rumbles at the crook of his neck in Levi’s fantasy, ghosts over his ear, filthy little compliments abound.  
  
He praises the small and desperate the choked little noises Levi makes are.  
  
How wet he’s gotten over just two fingers alone stretching him open.  
  
Praises him on how good he is, _such_ a good boy, how much he’s wanted to touch Levi like this, ever since the day he pinned him to that back alley wall in their first confrontation, and as if Levi didn’t think of it more than enough times as it is--  
  


* * *

 

  
(Whenever he goes back, he thinks of his struggle to pull away from the cage of Erwin’s broad arms to no avail, uses that to fuel at least fifteen of his worst-best wet dreams.  
  
And it should be frightening, if not terrifying, that Levi should have come to care for someone like he does for Erwin.  
  
But he does.  
  
He **does**.  
  
And Levi’s never been a betting sort but he has a strange, strange feeling that he isn’t the only one.)

 

* * *

 

  
He doesn’t even get to try out the mechanically-wound little plug, in the end, before he spills all over himself and gasps out Erwin’s name.  
  
Not that he doesn’t intend to, Levi resolves with a weary bark of laughter, when he’s horny as all hell and thinking of jerking off again.  
  
But next time – next time, Levi promises himself, barely suppresses a shudder at his fingers at last retracting – he’ll give it a try.  
  
If Levi doesn’t enlist a bit of help from his old Underground contacts in acquiring something like.

(And, perhaps, much…bigger to try out.  Next time.)

 


End file.
